The road carried them north into the hills, where the forests grew denser and the paths less certain. Few traveled here now, for the land was said to be haunted by memories of the first war—battlefields swallowed by trees, ruins steeped in silence. Yet it was here that Kael believed they might find those who still remembered.
After two days' ride, they reached the base of a mountain cloaked in mist. At its foot stood broken pillars, remnants of an ancient stronghold. Isolde dismounted, her hand brushing one of the fallen stones. The Hollow's mark pulsed faintly within her, and the air thickened with unseen power.
"This place," she whispered, "it feels… alive."
Kael nodded. "The old steward once spoke of them—an order sworn to guard the secrets of the first war. The Keepers of the First Flame. If they exist, they'll be here."
They climbed the winding path until the ruins opened into a courtyard. Firelight flickered in braziers that should have been long cold. And from the shadows stepped figures cloaked in ash-gray robes, their faces hidden, their weapons gleaming faintly with runes older than Aeloria's throne.
One stepped forward, a tall woman with silver hair braided down her back. Her voice was sharp as steel. "Prince Kael. Healer. Flame. You should not have come."
Isolde stiffened. "You know us?"
The woman's eyes gleamed, reflecting the firelight. "The Hollow speaks louder with each passing night. Your names are whispered in its chains. And where the flame walks, the shadow follows."
Kael's hand went to the Moonsilver Sword. "We didn't come to bring ruin. We came because we cannot fight this alone. The Shadow King stirs, Varrow poisons the court, and the kingdom turns against us. If the Keepers still honor their oath, then help us."
The woman studied him in silence before turning to Isolde. "Show me the mark."
Isolde hesitated, then lifted her hand. Golden light flared through her skin, the Hollow's sigil burning faintly beneath it. The Keepers murmured among themselves, some stepping back in fear, others leaning closer in reverence.
The woman's gaze hardened. "So it is true. The flame has returned. But flame does not only warm—it consumes. Many of us believed the prophecy a warning, not a promise. Do you know what you carry, girl? You are not just the key to binding him. You are the key to freeing him."
Isolde's breath caught, the weight of the words heavy as iron. "Then teach me to be more than a key. Teach me to fight."
The woman's sternness softened, just slightly. "Courage, at least, is in you. Perhaps enough." She turned to Kael. "And you—the blade's chosen. The Moonsilver Sword has not sung in centuries. If it answers to you, then perhaps we have been waiting for this moment all along."
The Keepers drew closer, their robes shifting like shadows, their weapons gleaming in the firelight.
"But know this," the woman continued. "To stand against the Shadow King is to risk becoming his vessel. If you falter, if your fire wavers, he will not only rise—he will rise through you."
Isolde's pulse thundered, but she lifted her chin. "Then I won't falter."
Kael stepped beside her, his hand brushing hers, steady as steel. "Nor will I."
The woman studied them for a long moment before finally nodding. "Then the Keepers will test you. If you endure, we will stand with you. If you fail… we will end you before the Shadow King claims you."
The courtyard fire roared higher, casting the ruins in blazing light. Around them, the Keepers began to chant in a tongue older than the kingdom, their voices echoing against the mountain.
The trial of flame and blade had begun.